Commander Grayson Eve paces, her lips moving rapidly, though I don’t see anyone else in there with her.
When Sin bangs on the office door, she whirls around, taps her ear, and holds up her hand for him to wait. He ignores her and barges in anyway.
“I’m sorry, Governor,” Eve says. “I’ll have to call you back. My apologies.” She yanks the earbud out and dumps it on her desk. “Sinclair, you’d better have a damn good excuse for bursting in like that.”
He slams the door in my face, and as I’m about to lose my shit over my partner’s rudeness, his shoulders heave, and he opens it again.
“Gee. Thanks,” I say as I step inside.
“Zoe, this matter is between me and the commander,” he says, ice in his tone. “But as my partner, you should know the danger this case will put you in. Now sit down and do not interrupt.”
Commander Eve’s expression is the only reason I don’t go off on him. She’s turned pale, her lips pressed together in a thin line and a muscle in her jaw ticking.
“Sinclair, if I ever hear you talk to your partner that way again, you will be suspended without pay for a month,” she grits out. “I read Dr. Breslin’s initial report. I know why you’re here.”
“How many others?” Sin demands. “She is not the first. Is she?”
Eve’s shoulders slump, and she sinks down into an expensive chair with more levers and knobs than I’ve ever seen. “She is the second woman found dead this week. There was also a male, three weeks ago. Though as you know, it is almost assured that others are already missing.”
“Three?” He paces, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Tell me about all of them. Right fucking now.”
Commander Eve pulls out a thick file and rests her hands on top of the plain, beige cover. “Before I tell you what’s in here, I need to apologize to you, Zoe.”
“Me? Why?” I sit up a little straighter. “I know I’m a complete rookie when it comes to the paranormal, Commander, but I assure you, I can handle—“
“That’s not it.” Her fingers curl slightly, and something shimmers over her skin. Are those...talons where her nails used to be? I stare, transfixed, until she clears her throat. “I have Eagle blood,” she says simply as she flexes her hands and the talons fade into long, black fingernails.
“Oh. Uh, sorry.”
“You will not last long here,” Sinclair mutters under his breath, “if you do not learn to control your reactions.”
“Well, maybe if youprepared mefor what I was going to see...”
“Enough!” the commander slams her fist down on the desk and glares at both of us. “I can’t tell if pairing the two of you was brilliance or idiocy. But it doesn’t matter now. Sinclair, I realize you have only spent a few hours with your new partner, but have you told her anything about your past?”
He shakes his head, every muscle in his body strung so tight I swear he’s about to snap like a guitar string. “You know I do not like speaking of it. I have never told any partner.”
“Well, that ends now.” Eve presses a button at the corner of her desk, and the glass walls turn opaque, writing and images flaring to life all around the room. “Take a moment.”
Rising, I follow the progression of dates and photos of so many missing all across the country—pictures from their lives. Happy, smiling faces. In some, the women have shifted—or partially shifted—into their animal forms, and in others, they look completely human. Except for the eyes, I realize. Every single one of them has an otherworldly quality to their eyes. The men, however...they all look human. Dates and cities are scrawled under each photo.
January - New York City. Twelve dead. Nine women, three men. March - Chicago. Twelve dead. Nine women, three men. May - New Orleans. Twelve dead. Nine women, three men. Dallas, St. Paul, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Phoenix, Los Angeles.
Nine cities. Over a hundred women and twenty-seven men.
“And now, you think whoever did all this,” I wave my hand around the room, “is here in San Francisco? Why?”
“Because of the faery tattoo,” Eve says. She picks up a tablet, taps the screen a few times, and the images and notes on the walls change. Now, the dead aren’t so pretty. In many cases, they were only identified by DNA or dental records.
But in more than sixty percent of them, at least a partial tattoo was still visible on the body.
“Every ink sample is identical,” she says. “And imbued with powerful magic. Not that we understand what it does.
“I don’t know a lot about tattoos,” I say, “but there can’t be that many ink suppliers. I agree this seems like a high number, but are we sure—“
Sin clears his throat from the chair. He hasn’t looked at any of the photos. In fact, he’s staring straight ahead at the commander, and crimson rings his irises. “Shifters cannot be tattooed with regular ink, Zoe. The design will fade the moment they shift. It is their nature. That is very likely the purpose to the magic. Commander Eve was not talking about the chemical composition of the ink, but the magic infusing it.”
“Oh.” I look to Eve, and her blue eyes confirm Sin’s words. “And our shifter?”
